I'm Isabella Fking Swan, and I HATE Halloween
by Tongue-Twied
Summary: No-nonsense advertising executive Isabella Swan will use any tactic to land her next big account, even throw a corporate party centered around a holiday she openly despises. Will it be enough to win over the client? One shot Complete.


This was my submission for the Anonymous All Hallow's Eve One Shot Contest of 2010.

Beta'd by the fabulous **Robmusement** who literally kicked my ass over it and when I whined about not wanting to post it she made the story a kick-ass banner and dangled it on a stick to lure me to the SUBMIT button on my screen. (_Sincerest_ thank you for everything J!) Any mistakes you come across were things I changed, and not things she would have allowed.

**_Of note, i__f you can't deal with Mike Newton and Bella getting cozy, then you'll need to think of an older, more buff Mike with cooler hair to get you through this. If he needs to look like Brad Pitt for you, then so be it. I won't judge. _

Disclaimer: I surely don't own _**Twilight**_. All original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, but once in my dreams, Edward left his heart with me.

* * *

**I'm Isabella Fucking Swan, and I HATE Halloween**

_October 2010_

_Isabella Fucking Swan's POV_

_

* * *

_

"_**NEWTON**_! I want you in my office _**NOW!**_"

I storm into my office after a lousy meeting with a potential client and slam the door behind me, cringing and letting out a silent scream of frustration at how quickly my afternoon has gone to shit.

_I will land that account!_

The employees outside that door are probably cowering right now, afraid that I'm on the warpath.

Well they can keep fucking cowering.

I'm more than just Ms. Swan, executive director of Sparkle Services' Advertising Department, outfitted in my Ally McBeal-short corporate power suit. I'm Isabella Fucking Swan, bitch extraordinaire! I _own_ that title. I'm more powerful than you. I'm more beautiful than you. Mess with me once and you will live to regret it. The fangs will come out, the venom will drip, and I _will_ be out for blood.

_And I will get that company to sign with us!_

I go to wash my hands in my personal, spacious lavender bathroom.

_Newton better be here by the time I step out of this washroom, and he better have a shaky hand around my signature cup of coffee or his ass is fired._

"Y-Yes, Ms. Swan?" Michael stands one step inside my office, sporting creases of fear across his forehead.

"What the fuck is that?" I ask at the site of an autumn floral arrangement in a pumpkin base he is carrying.

_I fucking hate pumpkins!_

"A delivery. Your assistant asked me to carry it in to you," he replies.

"Where the hell is my coffee?" I spit with anger.

"I-I'm sorry, Ms. Swan. I can go get some right now."

"STOP! Forget the coffee. I need you here right now."

I open my private refrigerator and pull out a bottle of Perrier, take a swig and replace the bottle.

Michael closes the door, locks it, and turns to give me a coy smile. He works to loosen his tie while he walks his twenty-four-year-old overly-bronzed, but well-built, body toward me, setting the arrangement on my desk smoothly without interrupting his determined strides.

_Of all the advertising firms in the world, my high school lap dog ended up working at mine. _

"Finally!" He arches an eyebrow seductively. "I know what you want, Ms. Swan."

By the time he crosses the room, the tie is off and he's undone four buttons of his white crisp shirt, showing off the white beater shirt underneath and his buff chest.

_How many times have I told him over the years that I despise beaters!_

His arms reach out and pull me against him, yanking me down with him as he plants his gluts on my expensive mahogany desk, which is in pristine condition and better stay that way—it was imported!

I offer up my neck, and this is where his mouth attaches itself. There is no _soft_ and _gentle_ with this asshole. He's like a Dyson once the switch is turned to _on_.

"You leave a mark, and I will hurt you…that goes for my imported desk too," I snap as I only slightly bury my perfectly French manicured nails into his shoulders.

_Surely Mike Newton is not worth ruining yesterday's manicure on so soon. _

In less than five seconds, he's already properly responding to me, and I intentionally rub up against him with my inner thigh.

He's resorting to using his tongue to lick his way up my neck to my ear. And this, ladies and gentleman, is all Michael "Assmunch" Newton is-tongue. I love a good tongue assault in my mouth, but Newton never seemed to learn that he has lips that should knock at least twice and ask permission for entry. He has always just been too much tongue way too soon. And that's why I don't give the asshole access to my mouth anymore.

Isabella Fucking Swan's body is a temple, and there is only one room in the lower part of the temple that really appreciates that tongue of his.

_Ugh, just what I wanted…for my ear to feel like it's just been accosted by one of those fugly little dogs that licks and drools nonstop._

I push him back down on the desk. Papers go flying. With a _thud_ my one and only obligatory picture of my parents falls to the floor, but it can stay there. Those leeches screwed me over. They are lucky to get any face time at all in my place of business.

I finish the buttons of his shirt and pull Michael's sleeves down over his arms, leaving them stuck at his wrists so his arms aren't quite as free to move. The gearshift that controls his hand movement is also always stuck on _grabby_. There's never a downshift to _caress_.

"Are you ready?" I tease, knowing full well he is. He's been ready since we were 17 years old. His eyes are wide, probably in surprise as to how far this is going for a change.

I reach down to undo the buckle of a brown belt he wears with grey slacks. _The beater is not the least of his wardrobe problems. _

"I said, are you ready?" I repeat in my best sultry-hooded voice as I lift my leg and rest my new snakeskin pump on a folder, careful not to scratch my desk.

"Y-yes, God yes, Bella."

"Yes _what_?" I demand from him.

"Yes, Ms. Swan."

"That's better." I smile impishly at him and extend my neck to one side and drag my fingers over my lips, moaning just slight enough to tease him before placing my hands on his chest.

He tries to lean his face forward enough to kiss me. _No fucking way, Newton! Not gonna happen! I'd rather shove cotton in my mouth than let your tongue invade it_. I pull back keeping my hands firmly on his chest.

"Now tell me Michael," I begin in my raspy voice, then quickly change my tone, "what the fuck just happened in that meeting?"

His face changes and I remove my foot, placing it back on the soft looms of purple carpet under my desk.

"W-What?"

"Newton, if you thought that you were getting further than that with me today then you are dumber than the rock your father crawled out from under years ago."

"But Bella…" he whines.

I eye him with a look of death—a slow death that starts with castration—until he corrects himself in my presence. He can get away with calling me Bella privately, but he's the only one, and I have to be in the right mood.

"I mean, Ms. Swan, please; it's been sooooooo long…"

"No Newton, it hasn't been long enough. You were a convenient, lousy lay and a way to stick it to Stanley-nothing more."

I walk away from the desk and pick up the fallen photograph. The glass is cracked so I deposit the whole thing in the trash can with barely a second thought or even a shrug. It was only a cheap frame from my mother anyway.

"You know something _Miss_ _Swan_, one of these days that heart of yours is going to soften back to the Bella I knew in high school. You might even have a sense of humor again," Michael states as he buttons up his shirt and fastens his wardrobe malfunction of a belt.

Me and my 24-year-old heart laugh wickedly. "Well if it hasn't happened by now, I wouldn't count on it. And tell me Mike, do you think you are going to be the one to soften it or do you just hope to be there to reap some kind of reward when this big fucking deal of an event happens?"

"I want it to be _me_! I know the story, but how much more time do you need to get over him?"

I laugh with the hideousness of Cruella Deville and with the same amount of empathy for the lives of puppies.

"Don't start, Mike, because I will gladly spew about Stanley and the glory of her college days so much it will make your head spin and send you retching in the toilet. For Christ sakes, you married that ho-bag!"

"Only because you wouldn't marry me. She was never you." He tries to reach for my hand, but I shake him off.

"You're goddamned right she's not me. One of her in this world is fucking plenty!"

Mike quietly dismisses himself as he fixes his tie. "And I'm not him."

"Not even fucking close, but congratulations, you've both slept with the same two women."

"My divorce will be final next week, and then, maybe you'll consider me again Bella." _He thinks a piece of paper is what is stopping me—that's rich._

I glare at him like a mob boss looks at his goomba, because I mean business about my name. I am a respected professional in this company and head of this department. Despite who says what about how I got here at such a young age, the truth is the department head of advertising decided to retire just as the VP of Advertising resigned to go to a competitor, which left me, still young to this business, but eager to prove myself.

"I mean, _Ms._ _Swan_."

"I'm going to consider letting you keep your job if you can help me figure out how I can land this account. That meeting was a disaster. Where the hell was the company's owner?"

"Well, apparently, the guy is a bit hands off—a world-traveling tycoon with a son who likes to party with celebrities. This is more of a small subsidiary venture for them."

"Great! So we get stuck with that bitch today? Rosalie 'look at my golden hair' Hale?" I say as I flip the bottom of my auburn locks back behind my shoulder in a mocking manner.

Mike's eyes follow the sweeping movement of my hair like Dopey watching a cookie pendulum.

"I want a meeting with that fucker and the prodigal son. None of this, 'I'm too big to meet with Isabella Swan' bullshit! And I want to know who in this office Ms. Hale spoke more than two words to today." My index finger pumps itself down onto the same spot of my desk as I command out my words.

"I'm not sure if we can get a meeting with either of them."

I pick up a file that has survived Newton's ass on my desk and read aloud from one of the papers inside.

"Beautiful Aviators, Inc., subsidiary of Hale Entertainment Enterprises International. This particular division is designing a line of clothing and merchandise to go along with an upcoming series of teenage vampire movies," I read matter-of-factly and roll my eyes. _Yeah that'll be a big hit._

"Tell me who Ms. Hale was chatting with today?" I demand from Michael, who is taken aback.

"Oh come on Mike, I know she's gorgeous and all the horny hound dogs around here were wailing over her. And don't fucking tell me you didn't walk into my office just now halfway to a hard-on from being affected by her presence."

"McCarty, in marketing," he blurts out. Typical Newton—softer than a marshmallow.

"Him? _Fuck!_ Get him in here."

My intercom buzzes fifteen minutes later, after I have sent Michael to retrieve Emmett McCarty. McCarty is an ass in the worst sense. He comes from a lot of money and likes his expensive suits and ties. He wears his clothes well; I'll give him that, but he brags way too much about how he spends two hours a day after work in the gym and the rest of the night working out in the bedroom.

"What is it, Bree?"

"Visitors, Ms. Swan. And you have a delivery."

"More flowers?" I ask sarcastically.

"No, Ms. Swan."

I check my hair in the mirror and smooth a few stray pieces down, satisfied that my new pricey salon hair product did what Giorgio, the salon's owner, promised it would, now that it's 4 pm and my hair has held up all day. I suppose he'll expect a higher tip at my next hair appointment, but he can dream on and sniff the hair dye.

"Send it in with them," I reply to Bree, the sniveling intern who has no idea how lucky she is to have this job. Ever since Alice, my best friend, left the position to open her own party planning company I've had one lousy fuck-up of an assistant after another despite how well the position paid. I finally wised up and just offered it as an internship, now I expect a sub-par work attitude and anticipate an end with each beginning.

The door opens and both men stride through.

"Newton, McCarty…have a seat."

I freeze at the site of a gourmet specialty basket Mike is carrying that contains several small pumpkins.

"More fucking pumpkins?"

"Ms. Swan, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Before he sits down, Emmett McCarty takes inventory of my office, a room he's surely never entered, at least not with my permission. "Wow, you have your own personal bathroom?" he asks.

"Yes, it's great for needing a quick cleanup in the afternoon," Mike offers up to the marketing executive that is twice as broad as him and sports a more natural-looking tan and definitely bigger biceps.

"Like you'd know!" McCarty scoffs at Mike.

"Perhaps you'd both like a few minutes in there to flush this pissing match of yours down the toilet," I chide.

Newton puts the basket down on my desk. It is filled with pumpkin spice coffee and pumpkin muffins. The card is from Rosalie thanking us for the meeting and stating she will take us under consideration.

"I offered you both the invitation to sit; I suggest you accept. Look at this!" I toss the card over to Newton.

After both are seated, I lean against my desk in front of them.

"McCarty…why don't you tell me how much of a welcome you extended to Ms. Hale today."

Emmett grins from ear to ear. "Well I got her number if that's what you're asking."

"What else McCarty? Remember like your job depends on it." I knew Mr. Slick had canoodled more information than this.

"Hmmm…did you want to know her cup size?" McCarty smirks over at Newton and gestures like he's holding melons.

"Jesus…fucking…Don't waste my time!" I rip into him leaning over and bracing myself on the armrest to get to eye level. "Drop the slick shit! Give me something I can use to land this account and I will make sure you get a decent bonus this year."

Emmett throws his hands up in the air in surrender. "Okay! Let me think. I'm sure she told me something more than just that she couldn't resist my body." He thrums a beat on his chest and stomach.

I hover over him waiting impatiently.

"She said something to the effect that she hoped I would be willing to wine and dine her to win her over more than this company had today."

"MotherTwinkieFucker!"

I pace back and forth within my office.

"Alright! If she wants wined and dined then we'll give them wined and dined! Mike! Ideas?"

"Take her to dinner?" Mike offers quickly.

"Take her to dinner," I mock. "That wouldn't even work in helping you get laid, Newton."

"How about box seats to a Seahawks game?" McCarty proposes.

"Fucking brilliant…if you are trying to impress your future father-in-law," I respond sarcastically. "We need something memorable if this parent company of theirs is _that_ big! This could be a major account for us beyond just the movie merchandise. Mike, I want you to do some digging on the parent company. I want to know how their ventures are tied to the entertainment business."

"She may have mentioned something about how any other company would be willing to woo their business with a fancy _soirée_-her word, not mine."

"Obviously NOT your word, McCarty! Shit! We need Alice."

"Yeah, this place is missing that rat fink," Newton adds, still bitter that it was Alice who wasn't shy about letting Mike know what a skank Stanley was behind his back.

"Alice, huh?" Emmett says.

"Yes, she used to work here as my assistant," I reply and see Emmett giggling. "Oh shit, you didn't!"

Emmett's dimples are in full blast as he nods over at Mike, stretching out his legs and half covering his mouth leaning back in his chair.

"What can I say? She was a little hottie-liked to play dress-up. I had three weeks of Halloween!" McCarty howls. I cringe at hearing _that_ word. _I fucking hate Halloween._

I stretch back over my desk and hit the intercom button.

"Bree, get me Alice on the phone."

No answer.

I walk over to my personal closet and pull out my blackberry, which I should have done in the first place, to call her.

"This is Alice," she answers.

"Hello Miss Husified," I greet her.

"Well hello there. And what can I do for you?" she asks in her little whirlybird of a voice.

"Well to start, you can tell me why I just had to hear about a three-week-long tryst with Emmett McCarty straight from the horse's ass and second I was wondering if you could throw together a party for me for a potential client."

"So you're calling to bitch me out _and_ ask me for a favor at the same time? Only you, _Ms. Swan_."

"Yes, Alice, only me, but I really need to land this account with one of your fabulous theme parties. Besides it's not a favor if you are going to be very well compensated."

"For when?"

"This Saturday. Can you make that happen?"

"Ooooh, a Halloween party?"

"No! You know I fucking hate Halloween—the holiday _and _that movie!"

"Well check your calendar scaredy-cat Swan, and you'll see that we are well into October and that is the commonly celebrated holiday this weekend so a Halloween party it is…with costumes, of course."

_Fuck!_

"Fine…but no scary shit. No haunted houses! Oh, and no fucking pumpkins!"

"Why don't you call my assistant and set something up because I'm on the road right now," she giggles.

"Screw that! I'll expect your call tonight."

"I don't work for you anymore, so I'm going to assume that tone you just took with me is based on your excitement over this and not a direct order."

I sigh in defeat—she's right.

"I'm excited," I say in a fake sing-song voice looking over at McCarty's smirk, "and disturbed, I mean really Emmett? Nevermind. I'll speak with you tonight about this."

Alice clears her throat.

"I mean, I look forward to speaking with you, _wonderful _Alice."

"That's better! Enjoy your flowers!"

"That was you?" She's already disconnected the call. I call her a name that I don't mean, but she still deserves it.

My crack staff assures me the idea of a Halloween-themed party is appropriate, knowing we could use some of the Beautiful Aviator merchandise as decoration. Emmett is elected to call Ms. Hale and offer the party invite.

"Now Emmett, I just want to be clear," I say, "I want this party to happen, no matter what you have to do to get her to agree."

"I'm sure I can persuade her," Emmett flashes confident dimples.

I hold my office phone out. He reaches Ms. Hale and extends the invitation for the party with details to follow. Mr. Slick works the conversation well. When he hangs up he relays that it is a go.

"Ms. Hale says she loves Halloween and looks forward to seeing my costume…on her bedroom floor." Emmett grins. _Smug fucker._

_Costumes? Oh how I fucking loathe Halloween! _

~x~

The doorbell of my high-rise apartment rings, and I glance at the clock and wonder who the hell is at my door at 8 o'clock at night.

"It's Alice. Lemme in!"

I grumble opening the door. "What part of phone call didn't…"

"Save it Swan!" she yaps back at me. "We have a Halloween party to discuss, so pour us some wine and meet me at the dining table." She dances herself in and begins to unload her armful of binders while I fulfill her _request_.

"Why isn't there a floral arrangement adorning your table this evening?" Alice calls out.

"I chucked it at the office already," I reply.

"Did you even read the note?"

"No Alice," I reply entering the room with two glasses of wine.

"Why wouldn't you read the note? Now you won't know who they are from."

"Stop fooling with me Alice. I already know they are from you. Ugh! Couldn't we come up with something a little more high class than a ghosts and goblins party? Will there be bobbing for apples? Fortune tellers?"

"No…just one big witch!"

I turn my nose up at her accusation, but she's not derailed.

"Bella, if you are over him the way you say you are, then you are going to have to put on your expensive big-girl panties and stop holding Halloween against the rest of the world."

I roll my eyes and down my glass of wine reminding myself the client has already agreed to this while I listen to Alice's enthusiasm over pending details.

"I have the perfect place! It's this big spooky mansion outside of Forks that a Nike executive used to own. It's been used on several movie sets."

_Spooky, super!_

Alice excitedly gushes over the decorations, food, and entertainment for the evening. "It'll be fun, and I have the perfect costume for you."

"Yeah Alice, that's what you said about the last Halloween party," I remind her.

~x~

Alice and I have been best friends since our sophomore year in college when we both ended up in Fashion 101 as an elective course, a class we deemed merited weekly shopping expeditions as homework. She was there at the Halloween party junior year when I met Edward Cullen. He had transferred in as a junior to the University of Seattle after going to community in his hometown, and it was his first Halloween party on campus. He was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, pretty risky for a college party, but he pulled it off suavely. And I was dressed like a pumpkin, complete with green tights and a felt leaf hat. At Alice's urging, a group of us went together to look like a cornucopia, but once the group dispersed throughout the rooms, I just looked ridiculous. Still, somehow Edward and I ended up in a conversation together about whether a pumpkin was a fruit or a vegetable and whether the Phantom of the Opera could be considered _scary_.

Edward was smart, handsome, charismatic, and had a crooked smile that flashed naturally, making you feel like there was nothing bad on this earth. He was utterly charming, and he called the next day. I became '_his pumpkin_' and we became inseparable. We dreamed of a future together full of traveling and little auburn-haired children with trendy names who would learn to play the piano as well as him and love to read as much as me.

All of those dreams got diverted though the day before the fall semester of our senior year ended-that was the morning I found him in bed with Jessica Stanley, my roommate _and cousin_.

I stormed out of that room and never looked back for Edward again I was so hurt. I even got Newton to pack up my stuff and store it for me-that guy would do anything for me, and I always took advantage of it. I made some last minute arrangements to spend my final semester abroad in Europe with Alice, and we didn't even bother to come back for the graduation ceremony, extending our trip midway through the summer. I assumed Edward had gone on to graduate school in California like he planned, and despite the stories Jessica told me how she had tried to turn down Edward's advances for several months and how much he told her he loved her, she somehow ended up marrying Mike last year at a wedding I was obviously unwilling to attend.

~x~

_The night of the party..._

"_Msssssss._ Swan." I'm greeted at the door by the party planner herself dressed up in a sparkly red devil costume complete with horns as I hear the most beautiful piano music trickling from the level above me. There is a small bar set up just inside.

Alice looks me up and down scowling at my business suit. "I see we went with the Amanda Woodward costume this evening." She rolls her eyes, and I smile at the compliment.

"You're wearing a headset? Will you be performing a Britney number tonight?"

"No silly. It's to keep in contact with the staff. It's a big place, three floors, just like your self-proclaimed temple!" she snickers.

Alice gives me a quick grand tour before the guests begin to arrive. It is complete with a large library on the third floor, a wine cellar in the basement and a piano bar set up on the second floor, though I'm concerned about the piano player, tucked behind a decorative screen, who screws up the music just as I enter the room.

A dance floor has been created, and Alice says a DJ will take over for the piano music in about one hour. I'm just about to get a glass of wine from the bar by the piano when Alice grabs my hand.

"Hors d'oevres will be passed around via white glove service," Alice points my attention to the kitchen. I hear chatter over her headset and with that she leads me back down the stairs. "It's about time! They're here!"

Alice was right. The place was a bit off the beaten path, but it is perfect for a party. Let's hope we soiree the shit out of Ms. Hale. The tycoon is going to be a no show, but his son is apparently always up for a party.

We reach the bottom just in time to see a black Mercedes pull up and a tall, lanky, dark-haired man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth step out. From the other side of the car out steps Ms. Hale dressed as eighties Madonna. They enter together and I greet them, thanking Ms. Hale for joining us.

"This is my brother, Jasper. He's mostly just here for the alcohol." She looks me up and down. "Not much for Halloween, are you?"

I put out my hand to greet Mr. Hale, which he takes and brings up to his lips. "Evening, darlin'," he says, tipping the hat of his Confederate uniform while scanning me. "Nineties Heather Locklear! You know she saved _**Melrose Place**_. And may I just say how delicious you smell this evening." He laughs and shakes his finger at me. "You might be in trouble from me tonight."

Suddenly he's distracted and looking beyond me.

"You might be too! Are you a bad devil or a _naughty_ devil?" He snaps his teeth at Alice and grins.

Before I've had a chance to really speak to him, Rosalie grabs my arm and attention, "You'll have to forgive my brother. He's easily distracted by waiflike brunettes. So Ms. Swan, is your boyfriend here tonight?" She covers her mouth to muffle a laugh.

_What_

_a…_

"No," I reply quickly, leading her to the bar. "There's plenty of room to roam about and several of our other satisfied clientele will be well represented tonight…"

I'm interrupted by a tapping on the shoulder. I turn and jump a mile high at the sight before me.

_I really fucking hate Halloween!_

"Hey Bella, it's just me! It's Mike!" He yanks off his mask.

Michael "Dickhead" Newton is wearing a Phantom of the Opera costume, of all things. _If I could find Karma right now I would rip it apart and burn all the pieces!_

"Excuse us for a second," I tell Ms. Hale and pull Newton aside. With an accusatory pulsing finger into his chest I rip into Newton!

"If you think for one second this is your way in then you are wrong Mike Newton, dead fucking wrong."

"What are you talking about Bella?" he asks.

"This! This get-up you're in!" I let my hand fly up and down.

"Bree left a message saying it was reserved for me at the costume rental store."

"Sure she did," I scoff.

"I swear! I thought you wanted me to wear it. I thought maybe this was going to be our night."

"Our what?" I spit out back at him.

Ms. Hale approaches, and I soften my features.

"Ms. Hale, allow me to reintroduce you to Michael. He'll be a key player on your ad campaign."

"_If _we decide to use your company," she laughs. "I think I'll go look around for Emmett now. I believe he owes this Material Girl a dance."

…_bitch!_

~x~

The party is going fantastically well. I've had a chance to mingle with some of the other clients. Alice promised surprise entertainment, hinting it would be _spook_tacular. She wouldn't tell me the secret, but I hoped it meant a famous musician.

I spot Jasper Hale heading to the third floor and decide to score some face time by following him up there. As I glance into the cigar lounge he's entered I think better of contaminating my suit with cigar reek, despite the room's open floor to ceiling windows. As I pass the library I peek in and see the back of Mike. He's reaching up to return a book to a shelf. _I guess now he is pretending to be a bookworm too. _I sneak by unnoticed and then stop at the top of the stairs.

Poor Mike. I had yelled at him earlier for no reason. Alice was right. _Oh God, what's wrong with me? _The party was amazing—classy and sophisticated, not spooky or scary-and I did need to stop holding Halloween against the world.

Just as I turn to go apologize to Mike, Emmett barrels into me. He's wearing a tuxedo and a headset.

"Watch it, 007!"

"Sorry, Ms. Swan! Hey Alice wants you to meet her downstairs. Have you seen Ms. Hale?"

"No!" I growl before starting down the steps, abandoning my plan to apologize to Mike. "Tell Alice I'm on my way with your walky-talky thingy. How come you get to wear one of those anyway?"

Emmett smirks. "I think your friend Alice missed hearing my voice whispering dirty things in her ear."

_Smug bastard!_

As I pass through the second floor, I marvel how the dance floor is a sea of moving costumes—Frankenstein, witches, wolves, Elvis, vampires. The alcohol is overflowing, and the DJ is playing the music way too loud and has just added colored strobe lights—it's Club Sparkle, what was I just saying about it being classy?

"There you are!" Alice squeals as I reach the first floor. She claps her hands together and does a little dance with her shoulders. "Things are going fabulously, right?"

Just as I agree the place goes pitch black. The music stops dead.

_Fuck!_

There are gasps and groans of disappointment at the interruption.

"Shit!" we say together, and I can hear voices over her headset.

"The DJ thinks he overloaded the circuits with his equipment. I have to go reset the breakers in the basement. Come with?" She talks into her headset, reassuring she is going to fix the lights. From upstairs, the DJ asks everyone to remain calm.

We stumble our way down to the basement illuminated only by her phone and a spooky glow coming from one room.

_Scaredy-cat Swan hates dark, spooky, and scary basements as much as Isabella Fucking Swan hates pumpkins. _

Somehow we stumble our way to the box and Alice fumbles with switches.

"Alice, you've gotta hurry," I plead as I feel every hair standing up on the nape of my neck.

"Nothing's working!" she cries. Suddenly we hear the most high-pitched blood curdling woman's scream, and I feel myself jump ten feet high into the air. More piercing screams follow.

_WHAT THE FUCK!_

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I scream bloody murder as my heart tries to escape from my chest in reaction to a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Shhhhh…it's just us."

"Jasper! Mike!" Alice whispers. I confirm it's them by the help of a penlight Jasper is shining on his face, not to mention his lingering cigar cloud.

"Emmett heard you were going to fix the lights. We thought you might need some assistance." He begins flipping switches.

"Mike, what's going on?" I ask, but before he can answer Alice interrupts.

"Oh God Jasper, it's Rosalie. The chef says she's lying in a pool of blood in the kitchen with a knife through her chest."

"W-What?" I whimper in disbelief.

"Rose?" Jasper reacts, "FUCK! Call 911!"

"I don't have a signal down here," Alice cries, shaking her phone.

"SHIT! These switches aren't working! There must be a main switch outside!" Jasper yells.

Another loud scream, only this time it's a low, deep voice. It sounds like…Emmett. Alice realizes, too.

Alice screams into her headset, "Emmett! Emmett! Are you okay?"

A shrill voice comes back. "Sorry, Emmett's busy dying, and you're next once I find you." The voice cackles coldly.

_HOLY SHIT! _

I grab onto Mike's arm out of pure, scaredy-cat fear. I'm frozen powerless-so much for Isabella Fucking Swan.

Jasper disconnects Alice's headset and cajoles us down the hall until we get to the dimly lit room. "You two stay here. Alice and I will go outside and try to get the lights back on and the cops here. Then I'll bring Alice back here. Lock yourselves in and don't come out until I say it's safe!" he commands.

"Alice, please stay?" I cry, desperately afraid for my best friend. She hugs me quickly. I barely have time to think coherently as Jasper is literally pushing us into the wine cellar.

"I'll keep her safe," Jasper whispers and closes the door.

~x~

I'm trapped in a wine cellar with Mike Newton while people are dying at my company's Halloween party. It's dimly lit by the glowing flame of an oil-based wall sconce. It feels like two hours have gone by instead of ten minutes.

_I fucking despise Halloween._

Mike has been silently staring off at the wine racks. With his back to me, he looks taller in his costume—it must be the cape or lighting.

I'm scared and don't want to die. Isabella Fucking Swan does not do well with fear and vulnerability and Halloween. Ms. Hale…Emmett…dead. I feel my eyes fill up with tears.

_I never wanted to have a Halloween party._

"Mike," I whisper, "I'm scared."

He doesn't answer, and I realize I need to apologize to him.

"You're right, you know. I'm not the old Bella you knew. I wanted a future with him and that morning I found him in bed with Stanley it broke me, forever. And not in the way a car breaks down and can be fixed. It's just easier to be this now. Call me a bitch if you want, but it's driven me to success and kept me focused. And now we are going to fucking die in this wine cellar…b-but I'm glad you're here with me."

I thought back over how badly I had treated Mike all these years and hoped he would not choose this moment to deny me a comforting embrace of his familiar arms.

"Mike, stop ignoring me and come here, please." I offer my hand holding an invisible olive branch.

He turns and slowly approaches me. Through the darkness and my teary eyes, _in a dying wish kind of way_, I trick myself into believing I see Edward's crooked smile and chiseled jaw instead of Mike's goofy grin and round features.

"If anything bad happens, I-I need to tell you, that I'm so sorry for how I've treated you. I probably don't deserve this, but I hope you'll consider forgiving me. You've been a good friend to me over the years and coworker."

His hands lightly grip my arms. I lean in to offer him a kiss on the cheek in short apology. He smells musky, and the scent causes a sensation through me, muddying my willpower, as he leans in and kisses me.

Surprisingly, his lips are soft and gentle on mine, slightly hesitant. He's in no rush, and his tongue has yet to try to barge in today. I tilt my head slightly to give in to the caressing of my lips and the feelings that are suddenly—unexpectedly-overtaking me. His mouth feels warm and smooth, leaving my body yearning and my head swirling with memories. Finally, his tongue makes an appearance, lightly tracing my lips from bottom to top—a very proper ringing of the doorbell to the Isabella Fucking Swan temple. I part my lips and welcome him in.

I sigh lightly in reaction to an overwhelming memory of Edward. This wasn't the first time I kissed a guy and imagined it was Edward kissing me back, but this was definitely the best in recent memory. It is hard to believe I am so caught up in the subtle seduction that, of all people, Michael "Doormat" Newton, is offering. He pulls back from my mouth and attends to my neck, where his kisses remain chaste and sweet, like he's taking his time to rediscover my skin and relish in my scent—or both. I keep my head tilted to one side and my eyes closed, afraid to break the fantasy. It's beginning to feel like one of my best Edward-induced wet dreams, and I don't want anything to awaken me at this moment.

"God, I've missed you," he murmurs, low and raspy, into my neck.

As fantasies go, this is good. Newton even sounds like him. I purr in appreciation of how unexpectedly amazing he is making me feel and forget everything else as he trails kisses up my neck to my ear, taking in my earlobe and sucking it slightly. In a quick wet sweep, his tongue finds the indent behind my ear.

"Mmmmm," I moan.

That was _our_ spot-something I never shared with another man. Edward always knew just when to find his way there. I'm still whimpering for more. His tongue applies more pressure causing me to moan out much too loudly.

"Do you have any idea how much I've missed hearing that," he murmurs right at my ear—it's a warm breathy whisper.

My body's reactions prove I'm way too caught up in him; I'm appalled at myself. I should stop, but under the circumstances, I'm leaning toward a "love the one you're with while death is looming" stance, especially since he is making me feel like I am with the one that I want most-the one I never stopped wanting, _the one I wished still wanted me_.

"Tell me you always wanted me," I beg, forcing him to unwillingly take part in my fantasy.

"Always," he returns, still at my ear and then pulls back to face me.

"Oh God," I whimper and attack his lips as I wrap my arms around his neck, desperately trying to mold myself to him, closer and closer. He responds willingly with his mouth and coils his arms around my waist lifting me up and backwards until I am jammed up against the far wall. I lightly flip his hat off to thread my fingers through what I imagine to be bronzed, rather than blond, strands of short hair. Our mouths open and our tongues collide, sliding lavishly, until he pulls away to make his way up and down my neck again, first up the left side then dragging his lips across my cheek. I take advantage of the proximity of his mouth, grab his chin firmly and force his lips back to mine noticing that, for once, his breath is a sweet mix of wine and mint rather than coffee and cigarettes. He nips and sucks my lower lip, and I wonder how far I'll let this go—how much comforting I need at this exact moment.

_Is this the calm before the sex storm? _

He grabs behind my neck bringing our mouths together forcefully, where I find myself experiencing weather patterns of a tropical warm climate with some precipitation.

_I guess so._

My body feels an unseasonal heat wave pass through. Our mouths are a full-blown storm of crashing lips, thrashing tongues, and tropical air that finally consumes us, and I retreat to catch my breath.

"Bella, please?" He voices what his arousal is already begging for, and I nod yes to him, too out of breath to speak and my body too overwhelmed with heat to hear anything else he may have said. He braces the wall for support and buries his face in my collarbone, panting, as his hand finds its way under my blouse to cup my right breast. He kneads over my plum lace-trimmed bra. His movements are slow and gentle against the racing heart in my chest.

As I reach up behind me and undo my bra I consider the mask he's wearing, and making him remove it, but I know it will break the fantasy I'm entangled in, and Isabella Fucking Swan is far too selfish of a creature to allow that right now.

_Would you want your alarm clock to go off just as you were about to have dream sex with Robert Pattinson?_

The fantasy wins! I bite my lip to keep from asking him to remove the mask.

With the bra undone, his fingers slide to the skin and work my breasts harder, twisting my nipples and circling with his thumb. He's leaning into me and takes the opportunity to blow his warm, sweet breath into my ear, making me squirm in the lower part of the Isabella Fucking Swan temple in anticipation of having those same fingers there soon.

I'm done waiting. I'm ready to give in to the fantasy. Now...and I'll either live to regret it or die at this stupid _soiree_.

He takes my face into his hands, grasping my cheeks within his palms, and brings his nose up to swipe across mine gently—a slow dragging motion-back and forth, back and forth. His mouth is open and I breathe him in, unsuccessfully trying to capture his lip. I finally bite my own bottom lip in anticipation, which is not a typical Isabella Fucking Swan move.

He moans and frees my lip from my teeth with his thumb. I lick it and take it into my mouth, sucking suggestively, as I lean my face deeper into the caressing touch of his warm palm.

_God I've missed feeling this way. I'm so glad I'm not wearing a complicated costume._

I release it his thumb, hungry for more. Urgently his lips crush against mine simultaneous with his erection rubbing against my pelvis. There's no slow this time—the attack is fast and aggressive, with so much fire between us. I grab at my skirt as he grinds up against me, pushing me closer into the wall.

I think an 'Oh God' escapes my mouth, possibly repeatedly or just barely, because his tongue is still wrestling mine and his hands have found their way down to my thighs as he braces them for more grinding.

_God these kisses are intensely better than my memories, better than my dreams. _

"Please…now," I gulp out, finally giving in to this moment with him. I reach down to grab his erection causing him to groan.

"I want you, more today than ever," he whispers, "even more than our first time."

His hands move to the trim of my skirt, furiously yanking it upwards. I kick off my pumps, and he manages to pull my panties and stockings down and fully off in one sweep as I step out of them.

His fingers slide down to circle my entrance. "So ready..." he responds, satisfied with how the lower temple is currently decorated—waxed and wet. "That's my pumpkin."

I gasp in response to those words, _his _words, and open my eyes to look directly into his—piercing emeralds.

I freeze.

"Edward!" I demand, as I push his chest and pull away.

"No pumpkin, don't!" He grabs my elbows and pulls me back toward him.

"What the…let me go!" I pound on his chest with my fists, but my fists quell and my words are stolen as he leans down and captures my lips. I can feel him guiding us backwards across the room until the sound of glass crashing on the floor and feel the spritz of liquid land on my legs.

"Whoops!" He laughs.

"Hopefully that wasn't imported." I giggle at what's happened as he lifts me by the thighs, letting me wrap my legs around his waist, ensnare his neck with my arms, and pepper his cheek with kisses of realization as he tries to step over the glass.

"You're not cut or bleeding are you?" he asks tenderly.

I shake my head no, and like magnets our lips come together again. His kisses are soft, wet, and all Edward. _Real_ Edward. He's moving us across the room again while twisting and sliding our tongues. My arms fall to his sides and my nails trace a trail down his back, until I feel myself pushed up against the wall.

He breaks the kiss and pulls my blouse back to expose my collarbone where he sucks and bites playfully in between kisses then hungrily kisses up my neck to my jawline. His hands are on my back, in my hair, on my neck—everywhere.

Braced against the wall, I move my hands down to undo his pants and free his erection. I have no idea how he's balancing me, as he works to help me then brings his hands up to cup my face.

"Do you want this pumpkin…" he pants, "with me?"

"Only you," I breathe.

He covers my mouth with his and moans into it as I stroke his shaft.

"Jesus! Fuck!" He looks down and pats his chest. "No condom," he breathes.

"Pill. _Please_…now!" I cry out and bite my lip again reflexively in anticipation of him inside me.

He enters the Isabella Fucking Swan temple's favorite room with force and intention and continues to slam into me harder and harder, one pounding Bella-designed thrust after another, causing me to slip out various expletives in appreciation until I feel my body tremble.

"Ed….ward!" I scream as pleasure ripples through me and the lower room of the temple clenches around him.

He grabs my hips tight one last time as he loses control and fills me, growling out my name over and over before collapsing into my chest.

"God, I've missed you," he whispers, as his arms encircle me, cushioning me from the wall.

He holds us up steady together-two souls and two bodies reconnected after what seemed like an eternity apart-until finally pulling out. I begin to slide down the wall, but he catches me, cradling me on bended knee.

I'm staring at him in disbelief. _I'm not dreaming? That just happened?_

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

_On cloud fucking nine elated actually…and relieved._

"My clothes," I smile, "I should…"

I stand and feel his eyes follow me as I hunt for my shoes and replace my clothes while he fixes his own clothes.

"Come here," he says softly.

He drapes his arm and cape around my shoulder and pulls us down to the floor where I lean into him—into the familiarity of the college boy I gave my heart to long ago. He settles his cheek into my hair.

"Still strawberries," he sighs.

I suddenly shiver at the thought of what is going on upstairs and reflexively wrap my arm across his chest to feel safer. I want to stay like this forever. I want to forget the last two years. I just want to sit here and bask in him and the return of my heart. My eyes are shut thinking of all this, but they shoot open, wide and full, and I move to get up quickly.

"No, don't pull away. Not yet." He secures my arm with his grip. "I know you must be mad but…"

"Let go!" I hiss through my teeth. He obliges and I turn to climb over him, straddling his long legs that are stretched out straight in front of him.

"Don't move," I whisper, "be very still."

My fingers gently trace his jawline, more chiseled than I remember, trickle over his lips, and slide their way to the edge of the mask. With one light tug upward it is off completely, exposing his whole beautiful face. He sits still, synergy in his green eyes unmatched by anything I have ever seen in another, and clearly visible despite the lighting of the room. I run my fingers through his short hair.

"You're here?" I ask, because I've just awakened from the sweetest dream in the world to find it wasn't a dream.

"I'm here," he admits gently. "Disappointed, pumpkin?" he asks softly as he brushes some loose tendrils from my face and gently tucks them behind my ear. "It seems you were expecting Newton. You know, I never could stand that guy."

"No, Edward. Newton…he…could never make me feel…the way you can."

"So he's been given his fair shot at trying?"

I scowl at him, and my temper's triggered instantly. "Don't start on him! Not after I found you in bed with my cousin, Edward!"

His tone matches my heightened tone. "Yes, and if you had given me half a chance to explain instead of fleeing the country and shutting me out of your life—which was my life, too by the way—you would've learned the truth about that night."

He chuckles and scrubs at his chin with one hand.

"And then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have had to persuade a bunch of your friends into locking me into a wine cellar with you under the pretense of a Michael Meyers killing spree going on at a corporate Halloween party!"

"You what?" I blink at him. "Whoa, wait a minute!" I attempt to get up and remove myself. "What are you saying…that this whole thing was a set up? Rosalie…Emmett?"

"_Trick or treat_?" he muses, questioning if I'll buy into this revelation with humor.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and is…texting? Suddenly the music starts blaring so loud the ceiling shakes.

"Well the joke's on me isn't it?" I stand and turn to the door.

"Isabella, wait!" He grabs my wrist.

I stomp my foot and turn to narrow my eyes. He's about to get a taste of the new bionic Isabella Swan that had to be rebuilt after that morning. "Let me fucking go now or else." He stands lithely without releasing me.

"Well at least you are giving me a choice this time," he shoots back. "Don't you understand? Why do you think I went through all this trouble? I tried to let you go once and I was miserable. I'll be damned if I'm going to do it again, not after that-not after knowing that you still feel something for me."

"I never said that," I spit. He releases me, and I turn my back on him.

"Your body sure did!" he argues before snaking his arms around my waist from behind and burying his chin in my right shoulder. His voice changes to a low, pleading whisper at my ear. "Pumpkin, don't do this. Just let me in."

"I'm pretty sure I just did." My sense of humor decides to resurface in the midst of this fucked-up situation, as I feel myself contouring into his frame.

He tightens his grip around my stomach. "I never slept with her."

I whimper out a cry. "Yeah, right, Edward. Of course you didn't." I rest one arm across his while I reach up to wipe tears from my face with the other hand.

"I didn't," he maintains unwavering.

"Don't lie to me!" I scream through tears.

"I'm not lying to you, pumpkin," he says calmly.

"You have to be!" I yell, sobbing through the words.

He turns me around and sweeps me up into an embrace, holding me fast through my tidal wave of tears and fury. His pushes me away just enough to grip my shoulders, leveling me with begging eyes.

"Would you just listen to me! She drugged me. I had my blood tested and they found Rohypnol, which is why I blacked out, but I didn't sleep with her."

"How do you know?" I cry out angrily through my tears. "I saw you! You were lying naked in her bed."

"I threatened Jessica to tell me or else I would call the cops. She's sadistic and just wanted to hurt you. How could you have thought I would have ever done anything like that to you intentionally? I could hardly stand her and only tolerated her because she was your cousin!"

"No! No! No!" I sob, shaking my head furiously.

It had to be true. How many times had Jessica thrown it in my face how she could have any guy she wanted. She had always wanted everything I had, but I thought our guys were off limits. Mike and I had been together for less than a year in high school, the same year my parents decided to take off together and leave me behind in Forks to live with my cousin Jessica's family. We should have been the best of friends, but all she ever did was try to steal everything I had and throw it in my face how I had nothing of my own and should thank my lucky stars her family provided a roof over my head. And just to prove her point, she went after Mike, my friends, my grades, followed me to college, and then seduced Edward. And after she had done so much damage to my life, I stand here held in the arms of the only man I've ever loved and am forced to decide whether to believe him or her.

The tidal wave of tears subsides and I drop my face into my hands, suddenly horrified at the realization. I bury my face as deeply as possible into his broad chest because I can't look at him, nor can I understand why he is even here with me after two years have gone by—two years of me unsuccessfully trying to make myself believe Edward Cullen had never existed.

"Pumpkin, why? Why can you believe the lie but not the truth?"

"Because…because if you didn't sleep with her, it would mean we spent the last two years apart for nothing."

Edward pulls my face up to look at him. After a quick lick his lips, he holds my jaw firmly between his thumb and index finger, searching my eyes for answers to unspoken questions.

He gingerly wipes away a remaining tear with his thumb then moves to trace my lips.

He leans in closer.

"Do you still want me?" he asks in a no-nonsense tone.

Before I can answer him he presses his lips to mine, affirming a passion that always existed between us. I reach my arms up to grasp his neck and feel my back arch slightly to get closer to him, whimpering, out of some blend of loss, elation, and desire. He breaks the kiss off and searches my eyes again, expectant of my response.

"Always," I whisper. His eyes soften with a smile that illuminates the dim room.

"Then come with me." He releases me to collect our dispersed costume accessories and returns with his hand outstretched.

"Where?" I ask.

"A tropical island, Paris, Rome, anywhere!" he chuckles as he intertwines his fingers with mine. "We've got two years to make up for, and I'd hardly want you to think that quick performance is representative of who I am two years later." He grins devilishly, "You have no idea how excited I've been to see you all day."

"But how did you…arrange all this…with my coworkers? Emmett? Oh God, Ms. Hale?"

"Willing participants," he grins. "They're just fine. If I explain, will _Ms. Swan_ be mad?"

I shake my head no.

"It was Alice," he admits. "She tracked me down and claimed you hadn't been yourself. She insisted that I owed you an apology. Once I explained my side of the story to her, she believed me and wanted to help. She knew you'd never agree to see me, but she predicted if she could just get us in the same room together we'd, uhhh…_reconnect_." He chuckles slightly.

"She predicted, huh?" I say sarcastically. "So then…"

"Come away with me," he interrupts pleadingly.

"Edward, I can't. I have this party I'm hosting to impress a client." _Apparently my client has a sense of humor? "_I'm trying to land this big account for my company."

"Babe, consider the account landed, but you can keep working on the impressing me part." He flashes me a wicked crooked smile adding, "that sounds like fun."

"You?"

Edward grins in a self-serving satisfaction.

"But…"

"I understand Rosalie put on a good show of not seeming too interested in using your company. She's actually an actress."

"An actress? _All_ of it was a charade? There's no Beautiful Aviators?"

"Not exactly. I do have an interest in Hale Enterprises. I've been working there for two years now ever since…"

He pauses, hesitation saturating his eyes.

"Go on," I encourage dipping my head to look up into his eyes.

"I was hoping we'd talk at graduation, but you weren't there and then my parents didn't show up either. It was only later I found out my parents died in a car accident while driving to the campus that day."

"Edward," I gasp, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"At their funeral, I was approached by Carlisle Hale, one of my father's business associates, who offered me a job. He basically adopted me into his company because his own daughter, that would be Rosalie, was pursuing acting, and his son, Jasper, well, he's more interested in the social scene; though, those days might be over if Alice were to give him a chance." He perks up and winks.

"Alice tried to find me sooner, but I was always out of the country traveling for business. It's kept me busy, but not so busy that I wasn't thinking about you every single day, _Ms. Swan_," he says, playfully tapping my nose, "my most beautiful of aviators."

I blush at the realization of the name. "I thought the name had something to do with Rosalie. She's quite pretty."

"If you say so. She's always resented Carlisle for taking me on and giving me so much resposibility within the company. And her parents tried to set us up once." He laughs, "Yeah, that was a bad idea."

"Why was it a bad idea?" I ask sheepishly.

"Why do you think? I wasn't into it…or over you. Were you over me?"

"I tried to be…"

"Why didn't you take any of my calls? We could have settled this long ago if you would have just talked to me."

I shrug in return.

"Will you talk to me now, pumpkin?"

"I'm…confused. I thought we were talking."

He releases my hand and leans in to move more stray wisps of hair back behind my ear.

"We are, I suppose," he muses and gently smiles, "but you haven't said the words I want to hear yet." He releases my hand and goes back to sit against the wall. "I changed my mind. I'm not going anywhere until I get what I want."

"And what's that?" I cross my arms.

"Still my stubborn pumpkin," he mutters as he scrubs his face furiously then laughs and extends his hand out in invitation. I reluctantly walk over to him complaining about being hungry, cold, tired and firing every single person who was in on this, including Alice.

"Come on, _Ms_. Swan, I hear you're one tough cookie now. You can take it." He's peeking up at me through squinting eyes, like the sun was shining brightly behind me, and smiling impishly.

"The floor is hard. Sit." He pats his lap.

I oblige into his warm body, breathing him in on the sly. "How much longer are we going to stay in here if we don't need to?"

"Until we're done talking, pumpkin."

"Can't we get a cup of coffee and talk somewhere…somewhere less cold and damp, someplace with good lighting."

His lips surprise me as they connect with mine suddenly, sweetly, and shortly.

"Sorry," he responds.

"That's okay." I laugh it off. "Your lips are warm at least."

"No, I'm sorry, for all of it—for everything you went through because of what you thought happened. I meant what I said. You were my life, and when you left you took my life with you."

I reach out to caress his cheek with the back of my hand.

"I loved you," he says reassuringly, as he takes my hand to gently press his lips to it.

"I know."

"I never stopped. And…." He flips my hand and drags his lips over my inner wrist, lingering there, letting his eyes spy up at me.

"And?"

"And I do want to have coffee…and talk…and be with you…every day." He looks to gauge my response.

"E-Edward, what are you…?" I stammer out.

"I'm saying this, out loud, that I'm not leaving this wine cellar until I hear you tell me you love me and you're not willing to walk away from us again. Ever."

~x~

_Four years later…_

"It's a girl!" the doctor announces. "Time of birth 12:04 am October 31st. It looks like you've got yourselves a Halloween baby Mr. and Mrs. Cullen."

Edward returns to my side and carefully places the blanket-clad newborn in my arms.

"Renesme," I coo, "our beautiful little pumpkin."

Edward leans in to gently kiss me on the forehead, whispering, "I love you."

"I love you, Edward."

I'm Mrs. Bella Cullen, and I love Halloween, _fucking love it!_

~x~

the _fucking _end!

* * *

**A/N: ****And you thought she was going to end up with Newton! As if! I****t's always about Edward. **

**Thanks to rpfangirldc, Di, and LM for their words of encouragement! **

**You are going to review, aren't you?**


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